


Cruelty Wins in the Movies

by TylerM



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Shenanigans, Bruce Wayne Tries as a Dad, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Protective Batfamily, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Sibling Love, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TylerM/pseuds/TylerM
Summary: “Go, away,” Jason pants out, not looking up but he knows its Dick entering, like he owns the place, or Jason won’t shoot him on sight.“Little wing?” Dick asks again, apparently ignoring him.Jason groans in frustration and pulls out one of the guns on his belt, pointing it at Dick. It’s a weak attempt and they both know he won’t shoot, but god does he want to sometimes. He wants to be left alone.“Said, go away,” Jason grits angrily, he’s having trouble breathing now, this isn’t good.Dick eyes the gun slightly, but his expression is too relaxed for someone with a gun pointed to his head. Jason groans and throws it to the ground frustrated. Stupid Dickhead doesn’t think Jason won’t shoot him.He might.He probably won’t, but he might.- The one where Jason gets shot protecting Robin and has to be taken to the manor to be cared for. Just a look at the relationship between Jason, Bruce and his brothers. Pure and chaotic fluff, hurt and comfort.





	Cruelty Wins in the Movies

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any Bat children. A simple excuse to put poor Todd through some pain. Warning: Jason swears.

Jason groans as he stumbles into his apartment, smearing blood over the kitchen top and knocking over a pile of papers sitting on the bench. He grits his teeth tightly and hops as gently as he can to the couch, where he flops down and tries not to cry out in pain as his thigh is jarred roughly.

He’s alone in the safehouse, but he is still cautious of not screaming out in pain, even though he’s sure it’s becoming a serious injury right now and not something he could patch up himself like he thought.

He’d been doing a usual patrol, ensuring everyone was doing what they were supposed to be doing, when he’d stumbled upon Robin with some drug lords. Honestly, Robin seemed to be handling it, which made the whole thing a lot worse, when he intervened, kicked some ass and then entirely misread the situation. One of the guys, brink of passing out shot a few times at the kid. Jason being well, _not Jason someone with a heart,_ intervened the shot with his own fucking body, landing 2 bullets in his leg and took down the goon with one rubber bullet in a heartbeat.

The kid was hard to read on a good day but the startled “Hood!” he’d basically screamed at Jason kneeling at his side was hard to take and an indication of how he must look.

Jason had just pushed him back, “All good short stack, just grazed me,” he lied gritting through pain and doing his best at appearing fine.

It didn’t look like Damian believed him for a second, and he was clearly on the verge of protesting Jason’s idiocy, but the elder cut him off, “Seriously I’m fine kid, just gonna go patch up.”

“Hood do not be ridiculous! You need to go to Alfred right now,” Damian demanded, all 4 feet of him standing tall and almost stomping his foot in protest.

“Barely grazed me,” Jason called out as he stumbled out, now seeing spots in his vision, “make sure you get home.”

Before Damian could continue his string of insults about Jason’s absolute lack of self-preservation skills, Jason hoped on his bike and left.

He honestly doesn’t even know how he made it home, but he did and that was a miracle. Because now sitting on the couch, inspecting the 2 bullet wounds in his legs he realized how screwed he was. He was losing a shit ton of blood, he could feel his body become weaker by the moment and he may or may not be seeing spots in his vision.

Jason got up, gritting again as he put pressure on the wounds and used the kitchen bench to steady himself. He needed to get them clean, but the idea was more feeble then anything.

“Hello?”

Jason may be bleeding to death on his own kitchen floor, but he’d honestly prefer it to the voice that was entering his apartment right now.

“Go, away,” Jason pants out, not looking up but he knows its Dick entering, like he fucking owns the place, or Jason won’t shoot him on sight.

“Little wing?” Dick asks again, apparently ignoring him.

Jason groans in frustration and pulls out one of the guns on his belt, pointing it at Dick. It’s a weak attempt and they both know he won’t shoot, but_ god_ does he want to sometimes.

He wants to be left alone for fuck sake.

“Said, go away,” Jason grits angrily, he’s having trouble breathing now, this isn’t good.

Dick eyes the gun slightly, but his expression is too relaxed for someone with a gun pointed to his head. Jason groans and throws it to the ground frustrated. Stupid Dickhead doesn’t think Jason won’t fucking shoot him.

He might.

He probably won’t, but he might. 

Dick takes one look at Jasons labored breathing, the pool of blood surrounding him and the paleness of the younger mans face and says, “Jay you need medical, now.”

“I’m fine,” He says, he attempts to move out of Dicks way when he comes closer, but he bangs his hip into the counter, “Fuck.”

“Look I understand we all have different definitions of fine, and even mine has been rather out lately but you are literally standing in a pool of your own blood right now. Damian said you were shot, not fucking dying.” Dick says as reasonably as he can but frustration and hysteria leak into his voice, “I’m taking you to Alfred.”

Jason uses all his strength to look up at the Golden boy and glares daggers at him, something he usually finds much easier then today. He’s about to throw out a healthy string of insults and tell Dick where he can shove it, when suddenly those spots in front of his eyes become bigger and his legs are not longer keeping him up.

-/-/-/-/-/-

When Jason comes to next, he realizes several things. One, he’s not in his apartment, even with his eyes closed he can tell, it smells almost sterile. Two, he’s fucking head hurts, wasn’t he shot in the leg?

And three, he can’t feel any pain in his leg. Interesting. Not good, but interesting

He blinks slowly and it doesn’t take him long to realize he is in the batcave.

Ah, fuck no.

Its not like he hates the weird Bat family, _his _family, he supposes.

They’ve come to some kind of awkward truce, where he doesn’t talk to Bruce, but Bruce no longer actively hates him, he thinks at least. He follows the rules_, no killing what a bore,_ but he still organizes a lot of Gotham’s underground crime to ensure they are doing the right thing. He sees the Robins on patrols and helps them when need be, lets Oracle hack his intercom when they need backup. He tolerates Dicks random drop ins to his apartment to check in, and has even on a rare occasion come to the manor to chat with Alfred, and maybe stay for a bit tossing insults to Damian who gives as good as he gets, or sparing with Tim who doesn’t seem that afraid he’s going to put a knife in his back anymore.

It’s not easy, he works at it everyday and some days he’s so mad at the world he can’t stand to look at anyone associated with Bruce let alone the Bats himself. But sometimes he’s not that angry, and sometimes he might miss the familiar air the manor has, or how they almost seem like some weird dysfunctional family. Maybe.

Either way though, waking up in the batcave like this, like potentially dying and very vulnerable is not where he wants to be right now. Too many times can he remember being injured as Robin and Alfred patching him up and bringing him tea, Bruce sitting with him while he heeled or waking him up from a nightmare. The memories are too raw, too real that he can’t deal with them. He needs to get out of here.

He sits up, with great effort because his head really does fucking hurt and he can tell without looking his leg is very messed up. Either way he swings himself over the side of the cot and rips out the IV in his arm.

He scrubs his hands over his face to try and wake himself up but he’s dizzy and nauseous from the movement. He’s just wearing his boxers and white undershirt, but he can see his jeans, boots and jackets sitting on a chair, so he reaches for them.

“Jesus Jason, what are you doing?”

He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone, looks up and sees Tim scowling at him from where he’s sitting at the computer. Figures they’d give him a babysitter. Fucking replacement of all people. 

Jason just grunts in response and clearly misses the way Tim texts someone in favor of trying to shove on his jacket, he doesn’t get far.

“Do you have a death wish you idiot?” Tim asks as he snatches Jason’s jacket away, along with the boots and jeans, putting them back on the chair.

“Been there fucking done that replacement,” Jason hisses, “Don’t touch me.”

He tries to sound menacing and violent as Tim pushes him back down on the gurney. He flings his arms out trying to hit something, trying to appear furious and not frightened that he can’t control his bearings. He tries to lash out but everything hurts and he is getting dizzy, he doesn’t seem to make contact with anything and then someone is grasping his wrists.

He wants to be left alone, he wants to get out of here where he can wallow and lick his wounds by himself. For one fleeting moment he wishes it was like it was before, when they were afraid to look at him let alone touch him.

Tim however doesn’t stop trying to get him back down, so he assumes he doesn’t sound as threatening as he would like.

Quickly Tim’s slim hands are replaced with much larger, gruffer ones and he’s being maneuvered back into the cot with ease whether he likes it or not. He’s embarrassed Bruce has just been able to manhandle him like he was some kind of kid again, but he assumes he’s pretty out of it if Bruce can, it’s not like he’s small.

“Shh, shhh Jaybird, easy now,” Bruce is mummering to him and Jason shoves at him weakly as the blankets are tucked in around him. He’s not a stupid invalid.

“Don’t call me that,” He slurs, eyes squeezing shut.

If Bruce flinches, he doesn’t see it, but either way complies with the demand, “Sorry Jay, we need to put the IV back in. You’ve lost a lot of blood and you concussed yourself when you blacked out, hit your head on the kitchen counter. Dick had to get you over here quickly.”

That explains why his head hurts so bad.

He can feel someone putting the IV back into his arm, he doesn’t even need to look to know its Alfred’s trained, gentle hands.

He stops fighting because honestly he’s too tired and everything kind of hurts. He tries his best not too, but tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, he keeps squeezing them shut like that might will them away and Bruce won’t see. He’s sore all over and pissed off because he doesn’t want to be here, but a part of him is also scared. Scared of what happened and what could have happened, and what being here will do to their already rocky relationship. Jason makes a life out of putting on a tough front, but he honestly doesn’t know if he can handle Bruce kicking him on the streets right now.

Bruce clearly sees the tears, “Shh, Jay. It’s okay, get some more rest you’ll be okay. You’re safe now,” He says as he wipes at Jason’s cheek with his thumb. It’s gentle and comforting, and all wrong.

That’s a joke, has Jason ever been safe? Jason can’t remember the last time he felt safe and it certainly won’t be drugged up in the batcave.

He wants to tell Bruce as much, but the words die on his lips and his mind becomes foggy. Whatever drugs they’ve got him hooked up to are good, and_ fast._

He stops struggling and allows the medication to kick in. He’s almost out of it when he feels large hands card through his hair,

“It’s okay Jay, I got you.”

A soft kiss is placed on the top of his hair, then fingers go back to carding through it soothingly. But Jason can’t be sure, he passes out not long after.

-/-/-/-/-/-

When Jason wakes up again, he’s more aware of his surroundings this time, and probably not as drugged up because his mind seems clearer somehow. And his head hurts less which is a plus. His leg doesn’t though, he can feel the weight of it bandaged up and knows the recovery time for this will be too long.

He opens his eyes warily, somewhat aware of what happened the last time he did that and is surprised to find he’s in a guest bedroom. He’s also no longer hooked up to an IV, which means he must have been passed out a lot longer then he thinks. He’s in some plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt that don’t look like they belong to him but means someone had the job of changing him. Great.

He’s still blinking and look around the room when someone knocks on his door gently and Dick comes in with a tray of medication and soup.

Dick smiles warmly and Jason has the strong urge to throw something at him.

“Hey little wing, you’re awake,” Dick say happily perching himself on the edge of the bed without asking for an invitation. Probably because he knows he’d never get one.

Jason despises that nickname, if he had enough energy he’d shove Dick off the bed on his ass right now.

“How long have I been out?” Jason asks instead. Ignoring Dick is usually the best way to go about things.

Dick hands him about 5 pills and a cup of water with a straw in it. Jason swallows the pills dry and quick but takes the water, “About 3 days since you last woke up. So almost 5 in total. It was touch and go there for a little while, you pulled through though.”

Jason grunts, “Obviously.”

Dick doesn’t seem rattled by his rudeness though, he never does. That’s the problem.

“Alfred made soup,” Dick says putting the tray on Jason’s lap.

Jason eyes it warily, he’s not hungry. But he knows it will be a fight if he doesn’t eat. He’s been on a drip for 5 days.

Dick seems to understand the struggle, “Just a little bit little wing,” With that he climbs onto the big king sized bed, all boney elbows and legs to bunch up next to Jason while being mindful of the soup, leaning against the headboard.

“Excuse me dickface. Fuck off,” Is all Jason says, but there isn’t enough heat behind it to scare Dick off. Jason’s not sure there will ever be to scare him off, Dick has this big brother defense wall that every insult seems to bounce off and he just gets through. Jason hates it.

“Shh, you’re missing the movie.” Is all Dick says, and points to the TV screen across the room that Jason didn’t even know was there. It’s some weird nature documentary, something Jason would love.

Dick.

Jason eats three mouthfuls of the soup before he sets it on the beside table. Dick glances over at him disapprovingly, but doesn’t say anything else. Another indication to how shit he must look.

With that he settles in on the pillows, absentmindedly watching the film, with Dick sitting propped up next to him.

“Rest little wing,” Dick whispers and Jason would very much like to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he doesn’t have the strength.

He falls asleep within minutes, and if its Dick that starts patting his hair, well whatever. That’s Dick weird thing not his.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Jason wakes up the next morning alone, he doesn’t know how long Dick was there, but it doesn’t matter. Jason doesn’t want to know.

He spends the next 8 hours watching a series of documentaries and dozing through them. Alfred visits him to give him some more medication and streamline a series of conversations but its mostly one sided. Jason is still heavily medicated, sore and tired. He hates it.

It’s a true testament to how truly awful he is feeling that he doesn’t make an escape of it, at least that’s what he tells himself as he embraces the expensive sheets and wraps the heavy-duty cotton comforter around himself. It’s all because he is gravely injured and highly medicated, no way would he put up with these usually.

It’s around 7pm when he is graced with another visitor. Th demon spawn stands outside his bedroom door, looking in hesitantly, like he is afraid to wake Jason up. Jason has seen the kid look lots of things, but awkward and hesitant are not one. It makes him look his age, often they forget that the trained assassin who could kill you with his eyes closed is only 11.

“Demon?” Jason says to break the tension, he’s still curled up in his blankets, not willing to leave the comfort of his nest just yet.

Damian looks startled at being caught, he must have thought Jason was asleep, but quickly masks it into his usual sour features.

“I have just come here Todd, to tell you that you are an idiot.”

Jason coughs out a laugh, lovely.

“You know I’m injured? That’s not nice to say to an injured person,” Jason counters kind of pouting.

“Yes I know you’re injured!” Damián’s voice spikes an octave and _oh,_ that’s why he’s upset. He schools it back to annoyed, “Of course I know you’re injured, imbecilic. I do not know what possessed you to get in front of that bullet.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Better me then you,” He says amicably. Because, well he isn’t wrong.

Damian, god forbid actually stamps his foot in frustration, “I have had enough of your self-deprecating, self-loathing behavior that has kept you and father at a distance! If you would both stop being so damn stubborn and admit the familiar bonds we would not be in this disaster. And if you would stop being so damn self-loathing with the self-preservation skills of a deranged monkey and would let me take you to the manor straight away instead of gallivanting around like some inane hero you would not have almost died. This is all your fault Todd!” He accuses.

Damian certainly does have a way with words.

Jason scrubs a hand over his face tiredly, because that is what he is. _Tired_. Too tired to be having this conversation with Damian right now. Even if his little outburst has come from love, even though directed with fury.

“I’m sorry Damian.” Is all he says, and Damian is taken off guard by the easy acceptance, clearly he had expected a battle.

“Well,” Damian says slowly, “Good. Because this is all your fault and would have been easily avoided not for your ignorance. No move over.”

Suddenly tiny hands are prodding at his shoulder and pushing him to the side, Jason looks up to find Damian has crawled into bed with him, pushing and prodding him to move. Either the bed is massive or Damian is more tiny then Jason gives him credit for because it was quite an exercise just getting onto the bed let alone trying to move Jason’s massive frame to the side. Again, Jason forgets that his little brother is _little._

“Hey, this is my bed,” Jason says annoyed.

“You can not be trusted not to off yourself by accident at night,” Is all Damian supplies as he makes him self comfortable.

Jason rolls his eyes, Bruce’s emotional constipation has clearly worn off on the kid, but so has Dicks tenderness and need to care for others. Even if the demon spawn has his own way of showing it. Jason feels a pang of guilt for clearly frightening him.

“Sure thing kiddo,” Jason laughs. With that he opens one of his arms, a silent invitation if Damian wants to take it. Turns out he does, and suddenly he has an arm full of mini Robin, snuggling up to him.

After a few moments of silence when Jason is drifting off to sleep Damian pipes up, “Grayson says this is the best way to ensure people recovery quickly.”

Jason snots out a laugh, “Course he does.”

“I just want to make sure you know the intentions are none other then it is my responsibility to ensure you recover,” He says amicably, which would be more believable if he wasn’t curled up against his big brother right now.

“Sure,” Jason says evenly although he can’t help but let humor sink into his voice, “Makes sense.”

“If you tell anyone about this Todd, I will kill you,” The little boy deadpans.

Jason actually laughs at this, holding the boy closer, “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When he wakes up the next morning Damian is still in his arms, and clearly someone has come in and seen them due to the refreshed painkillers on his bedside table.

When Damian wakes up he refuses to look Jason in the eyes, and just slinks out of the bed and off to the kitchen. But Jason thinks it’s kind of cute.

-/-/-/-

A few days of bedrest and far more minimal contact with any members of the Bat family then Jason assumed would happen, and Jason is monumentally ready to leave. That’s what’s expected of him, to want to leave. He’s violent and prickly and doesn’t like to be coddled. He’s better off on his own then with this ridiculous overzealous lot who want to talk about feelings and wellbeing.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he heaves himself up looking for something to steady himself with.

His right leg is pretty much useless for now, and Jason is going to take an educated guess that there aren’t any crutches around for the same reason he can’t find any suitable clothes to change into. Trying to escape the manor hobbling about in pajamas is one thing, but he won’t stand much of a chance in Gotham. Alfred has clearly already thought ahead, assuming Jason would like to keep some of his pride in check by keeping him captive.

Despite this, Jason gets up and hobbles slowly around the room. Again, it seems like Alfred has really thought ahead some, because all the windows in his room are either locked so he can’t open them without breaking something, or have some ridiculous child lock on them that them that only allows them to open an inch before jamming. Enough to let some fresh air in but not enough to shimmy out of it.

That pretty much blows his options, he’s not dumb enough to try an make an escape through the front door. One of bats will probably just army tackle him back dragging him to bed, or god forbid Alfred would lay it on thick. The only person in the world Jason doesn’t like to disappoint is Alfred and Jesus Christ does that man know how to lay it on thick.

Even though 80 percent of the time Jason is sure he is just intentionally trying to make him guilty, it works.

Jason is still trying to shimmy one of the windows open, unsuccessfully and ungracefully he might add when someone knocks on his door. He’s caught like a deer in headlights as Bruce leans against the pane, looking at Jason contemplatively, like he is somehow both frustrated and amused at Jason’s actions.

The amusement in his features annoys Jason’s more then he would like, he hasn’t seen Bruce since the first day, the first time he woke up out of sorts and someone had lured him back into contentment.

Jason’s been trying not to think of the nickname.

“Can I help you?” Bruce asks.

Jason is a lot of things, but he doesn’t think he’s an asshole _all of_ the time, so being caught trying to break out is actually incredibly embarrassing and he is sheepish that he’s been caught.

He honestly doesn’t even know what to say.

Instead he takes a step back, away from the window, “Sorry.”

Bruce seems as surprised by Jason’s apology as he does, and shrugs putting his hands in his pockets as if to appear less threatening.

“I didn’t think it was that bad here,” Bruce jokes, “The foods pretty good, company could be better, but you know.”

Jason doesn’t laugh even though Bruce’s attempt to lighten the mood is welcomed.

He’s so incredibly awkward right now.

“Look, yeah about that. Thanks, and everything,” Jason says like the words physically pain him to get out, and believe him they do, “I didn’t mean to appear ungrateful really. Thanks, for…”

He trails off and his face is a bit red, but he thinks Bruce gets the idea when he smiles softly, “I understand, it can be a bit much sometimes. You’re welcome.”

Jason gives an awkward half smile, and lowers himself to sit on the bed slowly, all this standing is getting to him.

“You know though,” Bruce starts, “You never have to thank me for that. I would do it again in a heartbeat. I always will.”

They’re both intentionally trying to stay away from certain words while trying to get the underlining meaning across.

_I’ll always save you._

It puts a lump in Jason’s throat, one that would have made him angry three months ago. Now it makes him sad or loved. He can’t tell and it bothers him that he can’t be in charge of these emotions.

“Thanks,” Is all he says, and he thinks that’s enough. Its more then he usually would give, and Bruce seems to understand. Jason’s surprised as his own willingness to play nice. He wouldn’t admit it aloud but he might not be absolutely hating it.

“So,” Bruce starts again, and Jason is mulling in the fact that emotionally constipated batman has said this many words in such a short time, he’ll have to ask Dick if its some kind of record, “As I see it, we have two options. I can take you home to your apartment, which is the one I don’t like. And if I do you’ll have someone over everyday just ‘popping’ in. But we know it will be to check up on you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, he knows that.

“Or you could just stay here for a bit longer, you can take a shower and Alfred is cooking that pot roast you like,” He looks down, almost embarrassed like this is a lot for him, “And, and we could go to the theater room, you used to really like that book series. The Lord of the Rings? We could watch the movies, keep you entertained for a least another 24 hours.”

Jason flushes again, did Bruce remember what books he liked?

God, watching Lord of the Rings with the Bats. When did this become his life again?

“Damian has never seen them, you’d really be doing him a favor by educating him on the classics,” Bruce continues when he’s not met with outright violence from his son.

Jason grins up at him, softly and slowly, it reminds Bruce of when he was a teenager, scared to ask for things in case he was rejected, “Well, I mean. I donno,”

Bruce grins putting his hands up in a surrender position, “You’d really be helping him out, he’s been trying to catch up on popular culture.”

“Right, I mean. Well, I guess,” Jason says slowly, “If it’s for Damians education purposes.”

Bruce smiles, he hesitates for a moment clearly rethinking his next move, but he lays a tentative hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason freezes for a moment, but he doesn’t shrug it off. When Bruce realizes this, he squeezes gently.

“Go take a shower Jay, we’ll be in the theater room when you’re ready,” Bruce smiles and with that leaves.

Man, this is more then Jason can really take at the moment he thinks.

It takes him a lot longer than usual to shower, with his busted leg and all. He doesn’t worry, because he is Jason Todd, _master of having no feelings,_ that because he takes so long they might assume he’s changed his mind and gone on without him. But when he gets out of the shower his bed has clearly been changed with fresh sheets, the room is being aired with the windows open, some new painkillers have been left on the dresser and a pair of comfortable grey tracksuit pants and a hoodie that looks suspiciously like one of Bruces are laying on the bed waiting for him.

If he was a different person, that might make him feel something inside. Warm, or loved. But he’s not, so its nothing. He tries to shrug it off.

Even some crutches have been left for him, which he has an internal crisis about using for a bit. God, crutches are so lame, so against his overall aesthetic. When he concludes that he probably won’t make it more then a few steps without them though, he caves. Its not like falling down in the middle of the hallway and having to just wait until someone comes to his rescue – god could you imagine _Dick_ – is a better option.

He fumbles around for a bit, getting the hang of the crutches and pretending like he doesn’t know exactly where the theater room is. Like he didn’t spend so many hours as a teenager just watching film after film.

“Hey!” Tim almost runs into him where he’s typing on his phone and not paying attention, “How are you feeling?”

Jason _doesn’t _feel stupid fumbling around the manor on crutches, high on pain medication and probably sporting one of Bruce’s hoodies that is a bit too big. That would go against what Jason believes in, because very rarely is he rattled or embarrassed, it’s just not what he’s built on.

He does however hesitate before answering Tim, aware of what it may appear like to the untrained eye and ready to throw a scalding remark. When Tim just looks up at him genuinely though Jason pauses, thinks better of his initial approach.

That’s what he calls growth.

“Ugh,” Jason shrugs, “I’ll live.”

Tim rolls his eyes but its fondly, which yeah Jason isn’t sure about that one. He continues to the theater room and Tim matches his pace.

“We were pretty worried for a bit there,” Tim confesses and Jason eyes him suspiciously, “Especially when you tried to I don’t know, leave when you were literally so out of it.”

“Yeah sorry about that,” Jason winces slightly, “I didn’t hit you or anything did I?”

Jason only vaguely remembers that but he remembers feeling trapped and annoyed, like he wanted to hurt something. And he’s been trying very hard not to actively lash out at any family members lately. Injuring someone even when high would not help his new reputation for not trying to kill them.

Tim has the audacity Jason notices, to chuckle, “No its fine. You were pretty out of it.”

Jason sighs, he supposes Tim could have said worse things about it.

“You had the strength of like, a kitten at that point. Dick thought it was endearing,” Tim laughs.

There is it.

Jason scowls.

“You also liked to be patted in your sleep,” Tim continues, and wow Jason wishes he wouldn’t, “Did you know that? I don’t know if Dick already knew or he found out while on watch.”

Jason stops his pacing to glare at the boy, and again he wills for a time when they feared him.

“Are you going to just keep going or am I going to have to clock you?”

Tim smiles he’s famous toothy grin, at least looking a little sheepish, “Sorry. Was just too easy, I’ll stop.”

Jason sighs, he’s going to blame that he medication he’s on for the reason he hasn’t decked the boy yet.

With that they enter the theater room, its full of plush couches and bean bags that always made it Jasons favorite room of the house. He wonders if Bruce remembers that.

Tim immediately takes a bean bag and sprawls all over it, Jason looks up warily to where Bruce, Dick and Damian are sitting. Damian looks his usual sour self but its hard to tell nowadays when he’s actually pissed off or just pretending. Jason is going to ignore the parallels in his own life thank you.

Dick is on one side of the couch, while Bruce and Damian are knitted together on the other, arm propped over in what appears like a casual position. It looks like a very deliberate space has been left between the two, with an ottoman for Jasons leg to be elevated on.

Jason doesn’t hang his head and sigh, because that would be rude. But the two people he’d rather not be squished between right now are Dick and Bruce.

His overbearing, overzealous and mother hen older brother, who he just knows has been told repeatedly to keep his distance from Jason for the time being. He’s not stupid to think Dick has just been busy, there’s no way when someone’s hurt Dick doesn’t coddle to his heart’s desire, the only time he can really go for it with a captive audience. Dick is scary as Nightwing, he’ll knock someone’s teeth out and beat someone to death, but he’s open with his emotions and will also cuddle you until you can’t breathe and honestly assume that’s the best way to care for someone.

And his emotionally stunted, never knows how to shows his feelings but clearly very deep down loves his children and would hurt someone in a heart beat if you looked at them the wrong way, adoptive father.

At one stage in his life, those two – plus Alfred actually – were the only people he truly cared for. It stings in moments like these when he realizes everything is so different. And also how everyone is truly trying in their own way.

Instead of fighting it, he very slowly makes his way to the couch, “So squirt, you’ve never seen Lord of the Rings?”

Damian huffs annoyed, but Jason doesn’t miss the way he scoots a little bit closer to Bruce, “I have not had time to watch all these nonsensical American movies.”

Dick laughs, “Just because there nonsensical doesn’t mean they’re not good,” He retorts back and helps ease Jason onto the couch. When the boy is settled he takes the crutches and helps Jason elevate his leg.

It’s not like he needs help, but he’ll let Dick. If it makes him feel better.

When Dick goes to cover him in a fluffy baby blue blanket Jason cocks an eyebrow. Dick completely ignores him and Jason decides its no use fighting.

“Lord of the Rings is a class squirt, you’ll love it,” Jason assures, and Damian looks unamused.

“Are we watching the extended editions or the theatrical cuts?” Tim asks from the floor where he too has wrapped himself in a blanket.

“The extended editions, we are not heathens,” Dick says crossly.

Alfred comes in then with a whole assortment of snacks, distributing them as such, “It is good to see you up and about Master Jason.”

“Thanks Alfred,” He says openly. Alfred will always be his favorite.

“I take it you’ve taken your medication,” Alfred asks.

Jason feels like he’s been scolded like when he was a kid, “Yes Alfred.”

With that Alfred smiles and turns to Tim, “Master Tim are you sure you’re going to be quite comfortable on the ground?”

Tim smiles up at him, “Of course Alfie, its Lord of the Rings this is how you’re supposed to watch it.”

He looks pretty content snuggled up like that.

“With any luck,” Dick whispers to Jason, “He’ll fall asleep within the first movie.”

Jason eyes the boy suspiciously, Tim is notorious for staying awake for days, but he also falls asleep during movies. Jason’s actually surprised they could pull him away from work for this, he’s probably already been up for hours. Jason will take that bet.

“Bet you 50 bucks within the first 20 minutes,” Jason counters.

Dick contemplates, “I’ll bet you 3 of Alfred’s home cooked meals he lasts 45.”

Jason rolls his eyes, course Dick would try and bargain Alfred against him, what a low blow, “Are you supposed to be bringing the meals in this bet?”

“If he falls asleep in 20 I’ll bring them to your apartment, if he lasts you have to come to the manor for dinner,” Dick says.

And wow what a Dick, he knows exactly how to be manipulative in the most effective manner. If Jason didn’t feel played, he’d be impressed. Still, Jason is a gambling man.

“Deal.”

They shake on it and Dick has a twinkle in his eyes that’s Jason knows it doesn’t matter what happens, Dick has won either way.

“What are you two gossiping about? We would like to play the movie!” An impatient Damian demands and Bruce settles an arm around the boy to calm him down. Or restrain him, Jason’s not sure.

“Yes we’re ready little D, play the movie,” Dick replies patiently.

Damian is muttering something to himself but Jason chooses to ignore it to focus on the start of the movie, he actually hasn’t seen this in years.

Jason is engrossed in the film, too much to realize the first one has finished, and Tim clocked out ages ago. But he can’t be sure when.

Damian is still watching, and although he seems to be enjoying it he looks tired. They are long.

When Jason sneaks a peek at Bruce he looks relaxed in a way he hasn’t for a long time. It’s nice to think that the presence of his family can bring him peace one and a while.

Dick has somehow managed to lean right up against Jason and is using his shoulder as a pillow.

Jason hopes his shoulder is boney and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really have the energy to move him. He’s comfortable and warm, and everything for some weird reason feels nice. It would be against everything he knows to fall asleep right now.

When his eyes close and he jolts awake for what feels like the 4th time Dick sighs quietly and maneuvers them so Jason is leaning against his chest. Sneaky hands find their way into Jason’s hair and that cheater is patting him again. Jason struggles uselessly for a bit, but he’s really no match for a determined Dick. Besides, he’s also not trying very hard. It’s really for pretense sake.

“Shhh Jaybird, you can sleep,” Dick whispers quietly. Jason would be worried someone would hear if they mostly weren’t asleep or engrossed in Frodo’s adventures.

Jason just huffs, and maybe purposely shoves an elbow in Dicks stomach as he gets comfortable, but he doesn’t complain. He tugs gently on Jason’s hair as a retaliation but it doesn’t hurt. Dick knows that.

When Jason starts to drift off, Dick speaks up, “You look cute in that jumper Little wing.”

Jason doesn’t even warrant that with a reply.

Fucking Dick.

**Author's Note:**

> My batfam knowledge has come from an assortment of mismatched places, please forgive any inconsistency. Also, not a doctor, nothing medical in this story is sound or claimed to be even remotely accurate.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.


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